


I'd Like To Watch It Burn

by Dr_Roslin



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 404, Again, Ben Solo's not completely there, Ben got one of hers, Ben is not completely redeemed, Dark Reylo, Dark Side Rey, Dark-ish, F/M, Fix-It, HEA, Happy Ending, Happy to kneel at her feet, Hurt/Comfort, It showed up anyway, It's HEA, Kylo Ren vibes, Kylo and Rey are running the Galaxy but making Hux do all the work, Kylo only cares about being with her, Make it Darkside, Make it worth something, More redeemed than Rey though, Neither are going to let that stand, No Pregnancy, Palpatine is Dead, Palpatine is a douche and an idiot, Rey - you are not going to believe this shit, Rey Palpatine, Reylo - Freeform, SO, Safe if Triggered by Pregnancy, She is DONE with this shit, So wrong and yet so right, TROS is Rey's Villain Origin Story, The Bond granted a preview of Ben's death, The Dark Side of the Force, The Light's calling but no one's home, They are SO dysfunctional and SO balanced, This is not the TROS fix-it I planned to write, Touch-Starved, Tros fix-it, When I say Dark!Rey I mean Angry!Rey, You know Kylo would have called Rey after Palps summoned him, let us rejoice, so happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25700167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_Roslin/pseuds/Dr_Roslin
Summary: Having been granted a preview of Ben Solo's death by the Force Bond (basically the entirety of TROS), Rey goes a little Dark in order to ensure none of that happens. And when I say Dark!Rey, I mean Angry!Rey.Kylo Ren's happy to kneel at Empress!Rey's feet.A TROS fix-it of sorts - the Supreme Leader and his Empress are ridiculously happy, just on the very Dark Grey Side of the Force. As the tags say, this is not the TROS fix-it I had planned to write, but it showed up anyway.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 14
Kudos: 38





	I'd Like To Watch It Burn

‘We are best pleased, Beloved,’ his mistress coos at him from the elevated throne on which she sits in her regal glory, and he cannot help it, he fucking _preens_ , basking in the approval he can feel radiating from her. The Force ebbs and flows through them, its intensity reaching new levels in response to the desire radiating through the two of them and the delight she feels looking at the gift he’d brought her, at the delight he feels at being able to please her.

They sit together on that black throne, for the most part, on that symbol of their shared power, but he is happy to cede it to her at her whim, leaving her to bask in authority and purpose whenever she feels the desire.

Today is a special day in any case. 

Today is a day for him to kneel.

So he kneels, happily, at the foot of their throne, kneels with one knee flush to the ground and one pointing up at the sky, kneels like a Knight of old and looks up to her, with his very special gift to her laying at her feet in front of him, where she can see it in all its bloody, gory, glory. He can’t stand it for long though, the glory he feels when looking at her, as she basks in the delight of the moment, It blinds him, forces him to look down again at the ground and to focus instead on the way her tiny feet are barely visible under the drape of her delicate black robes.

‘My Queen,’ he croons, his voice echoing through the hall, filled with all the notables of their reign, and he is happy, so happy in the knowledge he’d done so, so well. That he’d finally been able to do this for and be able to make her so, so happy.

She dismisses their audience with a glance and a wave, barely acknowledging them, which is as it should be. There is only them, only now, again which is as it should be. Soon they are alone in the massive room, with her still sitting on that throne, and her eyes blaze as she gazes at her prize, that token of his love of devotion that he’d delivered at her feet the way a wolf delivers his prey to his mate. 

Still, he waits, eyes on the ground at her feet. Still, he kneels. 

It had taken him longer than either would have wished, to bring her Palpatine’s head, the dead Emperor's spirit long extinguished in the face of the Force Lightning that his Empress had taught him in this very room. Today he was able to deliver this gift to her in return, and Kylo Ren was greatly relieved he’d finally been able to bring his Empress her due, his reward her approval and her relief as her anxiety ebbed away, bringing back the balance to the Force. And now the head of the last of her grandfather’s clones lies at her feet, the blood making a mess of the floor (which somehow makes it better, because it makes it _real_ ). And with this, her grandfather’s body is as real as Snoke’s dead body had been, that husk of the puppet of her grandfather that had tormented him all those years and which had tried to trick him into turning against the other half of his soul. A dyad in the Force, Palpatine had sneered just before Kylo had chopped off his head with the naked blade of his crimson lightsaber and he’s grateful for that, for the Bond, for the fact that they are one, for bringing Rey to him, no matter how much it had cost them. 

‘Rise, Supreme Leader, my Lord Ren, and claim your reward,’ she tells him now and he rises gratefully to present himself to her. 

His reward is her, her presence, her approval, and he needs nothing more, but she is a benevolent tyrant, eager to reward him nonetheless. In any case she always approves of how desperate he is to have her touch granted to him.

She grants it to him now, gently cupping his face in her warm palms, and he leans in for the kiss, breathing her in as much as possible. She smells so good, the warm, rich smell of her skin beckoning as she grants him her lips, and gods, the only thing that tastes better than her smell is her her lips, the sweetness of it drawing him in before he breaks the kiss to bury his face into her neck, and that space between her neck and her shoulder. And, oh, it smells so good, tastes so good, feels so good he’s just going to curl up and live there, spend the rest of his life there and then when he dies he’s going to just subsume himself in her. 

His access to her is cut short though, as she rises, forcing him to break the kiss and he once again kneels at her feet where he can gaze up at her in worship, so grateful as always that the Force has seen him worthy to bring her back to him. She pulls him up though, to stand before her, with a gentle touch on his chin, using her delicate hand to bring him up and leaving it there as he is finally at his full height, at once towering over her and bowing subserviently. Her hand is stretched up now, reaching up to hold him gracefully under the chin, and it doesn’t matter, his physical position, he is as much in her power as he had been on his knees. As much in her power as if she held her blade at his throat rather than that gentle hand. She loves this, he knows, the sense of power over him he always chooses to give her, will always choose to give her, and as she indicates he should take her place on their throne, he’s careful to respect her boundaries even as she moves in after him to perch on his lap. 

And if kneeling before her feels him with a heady sense of relief, this, this, is the ultimate, her slight figure in a robe and cowl that matches his own gently sitting on his thigh and her head resting on his chest as she curls into him as his arm wraps around her to provide extra support. He can almost breathe fully now, the sense of peace wrapping around him as they both sigh in relief as they come together and she settles into his warmth.

They are celebrating today, so she’d dressed slightly differently than usual, her legs bare of her customary black leggings, the thigh-length dress she wears cut up the sides to allow her complete freedom of movement for her long legs, which are wrapped in the tight black knee-high heeled leather boots that gave her a slight sway when she walked that made him feel almost lightheaded. More than that, the sight of the diadem he’d given her, crowned with the piece of ruby-red kyber crystal that matched the one in his lightsaber, shining in her dark brown hair, a tangible symbol of her acceptance of everything, of him, hit him the heart as it always did. 

She’s fully wrapped into him now, her body resting in his lap, his arm wrapped around her and his chest acting as she likes, a firm pillow for her to rest upon. She sighs in contentment, resting her hands around his neck, and this, this, finally, is home. He’s found it, after wandering in the darkness for so long. Here, with her, he’s finally there, finally at peace, and he can’t imagine anything as perfect.

‘And our Knights? They proved useful to you? In the end? All went as we had planned?’

‘They are well, my Queen. Your training, it brought them through in the end. They are with the Fleet now. They wished to present themselves to you for your pleasure before I dispatch them to hunt down whatever remains of the Sith cultists.’

He watched in awe as her imperious persona returned, even as she sat curled in his lap.

‘And we shall be pleased to receive them, my love. Now that they have returned you safely to me.’

She’d worried, he knew, about how the Knights of Ren would react once exposed to Palpatine’s influence, though she’d never tell him why. It was just another in a long line of things she kept hidden even as he begged her to allow him to take some of the weight bearing down on her slim shoulders. Instead, she’d taken her time with his Knights, meeting with each separately and at length, bending them to her will, digging deep into their brains, doing her best to shore up their resistance to the influence of the Sith Master, while at the same time digging for evidence of their loyalty - to him, not the First Order or the Galaxy, or even the Force. Just to him. 

She’s happy now, at peace, so he doesn’t tell her everything. There would be time for that, later. How’d the Knights had wavered, in that final battle. They’d come through in the end; joined him in destroying the Sith loyalists gathered with her grandfather, joined him in destroying that entire contaminated planet. Still. He’d seen them waver, and he’d pondered what would happen if they fell. As he thought, in that moment, that they would He seriously had. He’d thought, just for a moment, that he’d have to fight them all, together, seven against one, kill them all, on that forsaken planet, just to survive, once they’d come into contact with the poisonous stain on the Force that had been her grandfather. No. He doesn’t tell her that. Not yet. He just makes a note to ensure that they are kept busy. Busy, and far away from her. And watched. He’d very little doubt they would be loyal, without Palpatine to tempt them. Still. They could be kept busy; hunting those who might threaten her. Busy. And watched, he reminded himself. No matter.

In the end, it was his responsibility to protect her. From everything. From everyone.

‘My grandfather, if you could call him that,’ she snorts before continuing softly ‘is dead. My entire family is dead.’

The death of her grandfather brings together all that they’d planned since she’d arrived again on his ship all those months ago, over a year ago now, weeks after the Battle of Crait. Since she’d come to him after the Bond had connected them unexpectedly, when they’d touched hands once more during some random skirmish as she’d held him back while the Resistance had slipped once more from his grasp. It had been an accident, that touch, more than anything, as at the time she’d been so angry and his intransigence at refusing to join them that she’d never wanted to touch him again. But they had, in a moment unforeseen by both of them, as they screamed at each other across their locked blades and frustrated, he’d reached out to grab her wrist as she’d gone to disengage. 

‘He is dead,’ she tells him _here_ , in this moment, in a monotone, seemingly in shock, as she sits in his lap on the throne of the First Order, and he can feel every bone in her body relax into him, slowly and one at a time, as the stress of the past year drains off of her. 

Wrapping himself even more firmly around her, he hums reassurance and whispers her name in her ear over and over again as she stares at the bloody mess of the decapitated head of her last living relative, laying on the floor in front of them. She’d wanted to come with him, to this final showdown with the former Emperor, and it might have been good for her, to take the final step in destroying him, to play her role in ending his legacy, but they’d both come to the conclusion that the risk wouldn't have been worth it. To risk her being anywhere near her grandfather, especially given his plans for her. So they’d decided to have Kylo go alone, which had been a relief, to some extent. As much as he always enjoyed fighting with her at his side, the element of surprise he’d been able to use as he’d walked into Palpatine’s presence alone had made things simpler, and he hadn’t wanted her anywhere near that poisonous snake in any case. 

‘They’re gone. Rey. I promise,’ he reassures her once again. ‘I made sure of it. I burnt the entire Sith stronghold. Destroyed all the clones he had with him, the entire complex. Brought the roof down on them. They’re gone. Buried them where they stood. Razed everything on Exergol to the core.’

And he had. 

Destroyed the entire complex, burnt it to the ground, including everything he’d found there; the clones, the apparatus and every _single_ Sith loyalist he found there, most of whom were too stunned by the death of their legendary master that they’d done nothing but stand and stare as he’d brought down the roof on their heads and the Knights of Ren had hunted them across the sands of the arena. He’d brought home Palpatine’s fleet, though, ensuring his Empress would be free to stride across the Galaxy like a colossus.

‘Wish we’d known earlier. About Exergol. Destroying it would have provided a more useful purpose for Hux’s little _project_ ,’ she snorts, ‘instead of using it to destroy Hosnian Prime. Such a waste.’

It shocks him a little, at how much more open she is now about the use of force, not just aspects of the Force, Light, Dark, Grey, but of physical _force_ , of coercion, of compulsion. She’d always been pragmatic, his little Scavenger, she had had to be, he imagined, in order to survive such a harsh place as Jakku. Had always been blunt, direct to the point of rudeness as well. 

The pragmatism had taken on a bit of an edge though, since that moment she’d decided to come to him, and her direct approach had taken on a bluntness that could wound. It fit well into her new role, the autocratic approach playing into the fear she engineered just by being in the room. He couldn’t blame them, she scared even him, sometimes. It was one of the things that he loved the most about her, her embrace of her power.

As his other half he could feel her natural empathy as it flowed through the Bond (no matter how much she played the imperious monarch in public),and he knew she was still as soft and as hard as she’d always been. She might make throwaway comments about Hosnian Prime, but he’d been with her, on that day. He’d known she’d felt it, the ripping of millions of souls out of the Force, felt it as much as he had, that hole in the fabric of the galaxy that the Starkiller Base had ripped open that day. No matter how much she insisted otherwise.

The difference, she insisted, was that she had to learn to prioritize more effectively.

_‘I don’t have time to worry about peoples’ feelings anymore,’ she’d told him. ‘A storm is coming.’_

And it had. 

The endgame of that very storm was lying in the centre of the room. 

He wondered if that fear, fear of Palpatine, fear of whatever the Bond had shown her that second time had blunted her natural empathy. 

Certainly her determination to ensure that vision never came to pass had resulted in her focusing on preventing it with a laser focus. 

_‘Death is inevitable, Rey. What did you see about my death, in particular, that scared you?’_

She’d brushed him off. 

_‘Don’t worry about it. It’s never going to happen.’_

No matter how many times he asked, she would never reveal the details of what she had seen, only that it must be avoided at all costs. He could hardly blame her. He wasn’t planning to tell her what he’d seen about her death either.

They were united in this; just as they were in everything else. Just as they were in their joint determination that neither vision come to pass.

_‘Whatever we need to do,” she’d whispered in his ear that first night, as she wrapped herself around him, between the love bites she’d been imprinting onto his neck._

_‘Whatever we need to do,’ he’d returned with the little breath he had left over from pressing himself so closely into her he might as well have been trying to join her soul with his own._

If they were the ones who had to set it right, so be it. 

Whatever it took. 

Returning to the subject at hand, he cuddled her closer. 

‘They’re gone, all gone. They’ll never bother you again.’

‘He’ll never bother _either_ of us again. We’re free from any connection, from him, from that life.’

‘Forgive me, love.’ He buried his head in her chest, taking comfort from her nearness as she sits in his lap. ‘It breaks me knowing I lied to you, that day. The Bond gave me a glimpse, nothing more, but I thought it showed me all. I had no hint you were his granddaughter, let alone he was alive.’

He didn’t know what bothered him more: that he’d lied to her, even inadvertently, that day, when he’d told he what he’d seen, her parents selling her for drinking money, selling her into slavery without a hint of remorse; or the truth of what he’d seen the second time the Bond had seen fit to give them a vision of a time not their own. 

Only this time, instead of showing him her past and for her a glimpse at his immediate future, they'd both been granted at the same thing. Their respective ends. It had shown him, clear as day, so clear he could almost smell the world around her, the events leading to her death. And, she’d told him, it had shown her, just as clearly, all that had led to his. 

She’d given him only hints of what that was like, though he was hopeful that might change, now, given everything that had come to pass and Palpatine’s death, apparently a major contributor to his own. She shouldn’t have to carry that weight alone. Meanwhile, he could hardly blame her for the way it weighed on her, given that the vision of her final end had haunted his ever waking moment since they’d touched and he’d seen the events leading to her death. 

A life spent searching, for meaning, for purpose, for family other than the Palpatines. A life spent running from that legacy. Fruitless attempts to find meaning in work, in friends, in the Jedi texts, while always feeling as if there was half of her _missing_. Watching as her attempts to bury herself in rebuilding the legacy of the Jedi which led only to pain and frustration while those around her found new purpose in the families they built. 

Decades of mourning. For him. For all they could have been with each other. To each other.

Despite everything. Despite his weakness, despite his unworthiness, despite the disdainful dismissal of his life from those left who’d actually known him and the determined attempts to either bury or glorify the details of his life on the part of those who hadn’t.

She mourns him. For decades.

And that wasn’t the worst part, of he’d seen. No, what was worse was what he’d seen next; the bitterness, the turn to the Dark, the twisting of her soul as it followed, the twisting of her heart by the anger at the knowledge that she was the only one who’d come for him. Who’d been the only one who’d believed in him after the untimely death of his mother.

(Which knowledge alone had been enough to make him throw up, barely avoiding drenching her feet with his vomit.)

What was worse was her embracing of the Dark, her _embracing_ of the legacy of the Palpatines, embracing the Sith cultists at her feet, embracing of what they’d come to call her _destiny_ on her way to taking over the legacy of all that _her_ grandfather had built, until, after decades of mourning him but still far from old, she’d been a shell of the woman he’d once knew. Until there was nothing left of the vibrant, open woman currently gracing him with his presence, biting love marks into his neck, until she was gone, until she faced her inevitable end at the end of the lightsaber wielded by the child of one of someone she’d once considered a friend, at the hands of a child who’d pretended to worship at her feet. Killed by a false friend, a man eager to claim her power as his own.

And all because of his, Ben Solo's, death. 

No wonder she wouldn’t tell him many details of her own vision. Despite the limited details of the vision he’d told her - he’d never been able to keep everything from her - she’d insisted the vision she’d been granted was worse.

It haunted them both, this foreknowledge of the ends the other faced, and they’d both decided would both do almost anything to prevent it. In his case, there was an added weight. The memory of having failed to warn her of the truth of her parentage, of her learning the truth of her connection to the Force, to all that had come before, to the most feared man in the history of the galaxy, the Emperor and Master of the Sith, Sheev Palpatine.

He could imagine almost nothing worse, and he had to feel his failure had played into the turn she’d apparently taken after his death, and it haunted him that he’d failed to warn her.

‘I know, I know,’ she shushed him, soothing him in return, snuggling in further into his chest to reassure him. ‘It messed with us, or maybe Snoke did. But they’re gone, that’s all I care. I’m alone. You’re right; fire is always the best way. The legacy’s gone, you’ve made sure of it.’ 

‘I killed them all, the clones, burnt them. They’re gone.We’ll know better what to look for, in case Palpatine has hidden any more of them. ’

‘It’s done. It’s just us. You and I together. From now, always.’

‘Always.’

She kisses again, leaning into him and it all falls away, her touch a balm to him as hers is to him. Her family is gone; maybe that means the nightmares will end, maybe that means she’ll sleep easier at night, sleep more than two hours at a time. Maybe she’ll eat more than a nibble at a time, let him tempt her with delicacies from across the galaxy the way he wants to. Instead of watching her subsisting on ration packs and protein cakes.

Maybe he’ll finally be able to get her to tell him the truth about what scared her so badly about his death that she flew halfway across the galaxy to him, into the belly to the beast once again, abandoning all that she’d previously held dear to surrender to him, the man who should be her ultimate nemesis, abandoning everything to surrender to the First Order and him and the Dark Side - even if it not in entirely.

It made him salivate even now, the memory of that day. Her, standing tall and proud in white, the contrast to the rest of the black of this throne room so stark, demanding he listen to her, knowing he would, even as he sat where he did now, staring down at her. They hadn’t stayed in that position long, with him looking down at her, just as he hadn’t stayed in a position of authority over her, even nominally, for more than an hour. They’d spent the rest of the night in each other’s arms, fulfilling all that the Bond had promised, with their arms and their hands and their lips and their bodies, fulfilled all that he’d dreamt of from that very first moment he’d peeked into her brain and from the very first moment he’d held her in his arms. 

Coming together, that first time, giving in to every urge that he’d long had, everything that he’d given up long ago, everything he’d given up on ever thinking possible since that moment on the _Supremacy_ when she’d walked away from everything he’d offered her in wake of Snoke’s death. He didn’t remember dismissing their audience, that first day, or of the glances of his officers as they left, or of locking the durasteel door firmly behind them. 

He did remember her, the way she never broke eye contact with him as he did so, as he dismissed all so that they could be alone as they should be. He did remember the look in her eyes as she’d slowly moved across the audience room to walk slowly, ever so slowly, towards him up the steps to his throne, to move slowly to perch herself in his lap, to slowly wind her arms around his neck and meet his lips with her. They’d come together, for the first time, there, in that throne room, on the very centre of the symbol of his power. They’d come together so many times after, in his rooms, in what would become hers, in the massive beds he’d since had installed in each of them, as Snoke had no more reason to make him question his urge to do so, no more power over him, no more ability to whisper in his head or to make either of them question the strength of their connection.

And every time, the first and ever after, every time they’d come together the way they’d been meant to, every time they joined their lips and their hands and their mouths and their bodies as they learned what the other loved, every moment as they learned how to express them physically, every moment as they learned how to move in tune, the Bond practically _sang_ with approval. Every time he worships her with his mouth and his body and his heart the way he’d long wanted to, that they’d both wanted, it simply hummed. The sense of approval he gained, the sense of belonging they _both_ felt, was like a drug to him, filling him with pride and belonging and approval. He couldn’t get enough, anymore than he could his fill of her. Her touch, her kiss, her body, the way she loved him, the way she felt across the connection. His other half. He’d never get enough of it; never wanted to. 

The next morning, when he’d woken with her in his single bed, holding her carefully and closely in his arms to ensure she wouldn’t fall off the narrow edge, he’d known, known it would all work out the way he’d long dreamt. The sense of relief had been so palpable across the Bond he’d woken her, and he’d had to make love to her all over again before they’d started the day for real. In the end, the bed hadn’t proven much of an impediment to their need to come together, but then, nothing really had, not since that day so long ago and yet so recently when their blades had worked so efficiently in tandem to take out the Praetorian Guard who outnumbered them three to one and whom had been so intent on avenging Snoke even if they could no longer protect him. 

That was not the memory which made him smile now, as he held her in his arms. 

It was the memory of the next morning, the memory of Hux’s face when he’d come to brief him the next morning and found his Empress sitting on his lap on the throne of the First Order, just as she was now, calmly and disdainful ready to take command. All in black for the first time, looking down at the head of her armed forces, it was as if she’d been born to act the Empress. Though perhaps, she had been, after all. 

_‘The Supreme Leader and I require an update on your progress, General Hux,’ she’d announced to their subordinate that morning, and everything had fallen into place._

So, even if she continued to refuse to confide the details of her vision to him even now, after they’d disposed of the former Emperor, he knew they had enough to move forward with. It would hurt her, for him to insist that she share what she was not ready to do, might never be ready to do so. So he wouldn’t push, and would instead focus on what she had felt ready to tell him. Her grandfather was dead, he’d held off the Knights of Ren, they were alive, together, and united, even if not the way they’d both dreamt of last year when they’d come together to destroy Snoke. He was alive and he was holding her, and that in itself was enough of a victory, he assured her now, as he’d done for the past year. 

In many ways this was better, he thought now, trying not to get distracted as he nibbled on her neck the way she likes, the way he knows best to soothe her. At least for him, with her curled up in his lap, happy to direct him when she saw fit and work with him when she did not, this was the best of all possible outcomes. All was coming together as they’ve planned this last year. He’d been able to bury his connection to her long enough to fool the old Emperor, fool him long enough to keep him vulnerable, had been able to keep Rey away from her grandfather and all his kin, and had been able to keep her safe. The loyalty of the Knights of Ren, the Sith Fleet, the dissolution of the Resistance, their pacification of his mother and of Rey’s previous comrades, their consolidation of their control over the Core Worlds, her engagement with (at least some) of the Dark Side values; these were all bonus.

They are alive, safe, together and united. 

They are safe, he reminds her. Safe and together. Her family is gone, he reassures her. His is - not, but it may as well be, his father and his death a weight on his soul, his mother and Chewbacca in so many ways lost to him no matter how close they were in proximity, currently under house arrest as honoured ambassadors to the First Order in separate quarters on this very ship. The Resistance had collapsed for the most part after Rey had left them, more particularly after she’d joined him to hunt them down across the galaxy. Their leaders were either kept safely under his control or dead, including his mother and his uncles and the knowledge provided him a sense of relief as strong as Rey’s had been upon seeing Sheev Palpatine’s head come rolling out of that bloody sack. 

‘You’re all I need,’ he reminds her. ‘Let me be everything you want.’ 

‘Ben. I can never be everything you need. I can help though.’

She only calls him Ben when she thinks he needs it, he knows it, and though the thought of his vulnerability being so open rips him open a bit, she owns him, body and soul. And since she owns his soul, owns every part of him, he lets her. Lets her take care of him. 

‘I wonder if I should instruct our dear General Hux to convey the glad tidings of my grandfather’s death to Senator Organa and Ambassador Chewbacca. I’m sure they will have heard the legend of your victory already, my Lord Ren, but it might be a useful learning experience for our beloved Armitage.’

_To learn how to enjoy singing your praises,_ he heard in the subtext. Rey had decidedly not taken to Hux, and had enjoyed bringing him to heel. Her comments in regards to the atrocities committed by the Starkiller Base related more to her disdain for Hux than it did to Hosnian Prime, he knew. She was downright disdainful of his right hand, and she had spent the first week either in Ren's arms or in digging into Hux’s head to ensure she was aware of all his secrets and to ensure his compliance in the new normal of the First Order. Hux’s disdainful comments, eye rolls and smirks behind their backs had ceased within days, and while he might not ever be truly respectful or even fearful of Ren, at times he visibly shook while in Rey’s presence. It perhaps explained why he avoided her presence as much as possible. (Which meant, of course, that she delighted in calling him to present himself before her. Watching him tremble in front of his heart was, in fact, one of his favourite indulgences in this new life. He’d doubt he’d ever tire of it.)

‘I thought we might have dinner with your mother,’ she mentioned casually now, though he felt her arms grip him tighter, knowing his likely reaction.

‘I doubt anyone would enjoy that,’ he struggled to get out past the lump that was his heart in his throat. 

He doubted anything, even Rey's magical touch, would change anything. Leia would braid as many mourning braids into her hair as she wanted; Chewie would growl as many sorrowful warnings as he wanted. He doubted current events would change any of that. He tried not to let it bother it, tried to focus on the positive. All had proceeded as Rey had told him, that day she’d come back to him, and he trusted in her be everything he needed. That didn’t mean that hurt any less to have the remains of his family near him, their very presence on his flagship salt in the wound of having lost each other. 

‘She’ll never stop loving you,’ Rey reminded him softly now. ‘And now, with everything, we have a chance to make her see. All that we’ve done, we can show her, now, to show her why it was all necessary. And no one respects necessity as much as your mother.’

He tries to believe her. He doesn't remind her that his very presence is a reminder to his mother and Chewie of not only the way he and Rey had rejected his mother's values, but of the fact that he’d plunged his lightsaber through his father’s chest, making his mother a widow and his favourite uncle his unremitting foe. There was nothing that change that one simple fact, no matter how he wished it.

‘That doesn’t mean she has to forgive me. For any of it.’

‘She can. She will. She has.’

‘Rey - ' 

He could never contradict her, never cross her. But while she might know his mother, might have spent years with her in an alternate life (she’d told him that much at least), she didn’t _know_ his mother. Not the way he did. 

The women in his life, they were so strong. They would bend, like durasteel, rather than break.

They would forgive. They would never forget. 

There was too much, in the past, for his mother to forgive. His past, his father, his decision to take over the role as Supreme Leader. To own it.

Rey. 

She would never forgive him for bringing Rey, if not to the Dark, at least further away from the Light than any Jedi, any innocent, should be. Even if she knew, at least objectively, that Rey had never been as much of an innocent that the Resistance had made her out to be.

His Empress was getting that stubborn look on her face though, that stubborn tilt of her chin, and he knew he was unlikely to convince her. He’d just have to let her and Leia Organa work it out for themselves. The gods knew they were stubborn enough to do it. Unlike him, they also might be resilient to deal with the resulting fallout. 

‘She’ll embrace you,’ his heart insisted. ‘Eventually. She’ll bring you back into her heart and her arms. They both will. They'll embrace you. And they’ll like it.’

It’s a lovely daydream; him, his mother, his uncles - Chewie, Lando - together, them waiting to embrace him or at least tolerate his presence once again. It’s a dream, a beautiful dream, and since he loves her, obeys her every whim, he allows himself the luxury of imagining a world in which that might be possible. Because he loves her, he doesn’t remind her of how unlikely a scenario that would be.

He is at peace, he is at home. He needs nothing but Rey to bring her balance - Dark, Light, or Deep Gray, it hardly mattered - to the Force.

In the end, it doesn’t matter what else he has, he reminds himself. 

In the end, he needs nothing else.

In the end, he has her.

**Author's Note:**

> So long ago I don't remember when  
> That's when they said I lost my only friend  
> Well they said she died easy of a broke heart disease  
> As I listened through the cemetery trees
> 
> I seen the sun comin' up at the funeral at dawn  
> With the long broken arm of human law  
> Now it always seemed such a waste  
> She always had a pretty face  
> I wondered why she hung around this place
> 
> This place is always such a mess  
> Sometimes I think I'd like to watch it burn  
> I'm so alone  
> Feel just like somebody else  
> Man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same  
> But somewhere here in between the city walls of dying dreams  
> I think her death, it must be killing me  
> \- One Headlight, The Wallflowers
> 
> I'm at [@RandomBks if you want to yell at me.](https://twitter.com/RandomBks)


End file.
